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Emily Alford

What a Pretty Lady

By Emily Alford

"What a pretty lady," exclaimed my mother-in-law as she glanced through a pile of photos. "She's a friend of mine," responded my spouse. She was me, of course, as a camera had seen me one afternoon. My make-up, hair, and clothing were good. I looked very comfortable. I had accomplished a not-entirely-out transgender dream. I had been seen closely (albeit in a photo) by somebody who knows me well, and I had not been read. Given who had done the makeup and taken the picture, I hadn't, of course, achieved it alone.

Then "Mum" turned up another photo. Me again, dressed again, but no make up and looking pretty silly. "Is he that way, then?" she asked. Hearing the answer "yes," she just passed on to the rest of the pictures. Not long afterward I found out that she knew. Was I worried about it, my spouse asked. "No, not at all," was my truthful response. When I saw Mum a few days later I raised the subject. I told her that her daughter had known from within weeks of her meeting me, and that I had known since I was six. "We are what we are," she replied. And that was that. One more inch out of the closet, one more step toward freedom.

What had Mum seen? It surely wasn't a man in a dress. The first photo convinced her because it expressed what is me. It has a lot more to do with what's inside than with what I'm wearing. Changing clothes takes only a few minutes. Figuring out what's really inside, saying to my self "yes, this is who I am," meaning it, and acting accordingly: this has taken close to half a century. Maybe that's the transition that underpins all others, temporary or permanent. That deep identity, I think, is what my mother-in-law saw.

One part of what's changed is that shame and fear about what people might do if they knew about me have given way to anger about what people have done to others, when they have known about them. Ghastly things have happened to people who are my sisters and brothers, to people whose sister I am. This website is one source of my knowledge. The accounts that TG Forum carries of brave people being persecuted have driven it home that I might be persecuted too. Reading the Gendertalk and Transsexual Menace sites has had the same effect. Am I ready to put on a "Menace" tee-shirt and demonstrate? Probably not, at least not yet. But it's no longer acceptable to me to see my kind of people being treated shamefully because we are what we are. When I see it happening, I realise that I must respond. And I do.

Another part of what has changed is the realization of what would have lain in store had I outed myself in childhood. Staying silent then was horribly hard, but speaking the truth would have led to worse. Comparing notes with a post-transition friend who is just about my age has helped. We both tried to be boys. She captained her football team. I became cadet lieutenant-colonel in my military school. Her childhood family background was a great deal more sophisticated than mine and she might have received "professional help" that would not have been available to me. But in truth, had either of us been found out, the consequences would have been horrible.

Now, in the right circumstances, that might not be the case. The resolution of MA VIE EN ROSE and the film's warm reception are one sign of change. So, in real life, is the Dutch policy of encouraging early transition where youthful transgender is unambiguous. I recently saw a moving documentary about an English mother coming to terms with her M2F transsexual child. A few days later I spotted the very person, the child, not the mother, in a train station. She looked very good and I gave her a silent cheer. But what would have happened to me in the same situation still can happen. As much as children who are taught to be ashamed of their skin, or of their people's language, it's an outrage. The only proper response is to get angry, and to act.

If there's reason not to hide now, I don't hide. I make it a point to out myself if contact with anybody who contributes to this community. I out myself as well to scholars who are interested in us and respectful toward us. I'm not about to embark on physical transition, so there is no need for me to shout it from the highest hill that I'm transgendered. There are some aspects of my life in which discretion remains a very good idea. But I just don't accept any more that being transgender is in any sense shameful.

In one way, what my mother-in-law saw was pure artifice, confected up out of make-up, silicone, and hair that never grew on any scalp. But in truth, I hadn't done anything at all that a born-woman might not also do if she wanted to look good. In another way, what Mum saw was more truly me than the me she thought she knew. If I really wanted to, I could eliminate Ed totally, except for the memory that he used to exist and the record of whatever he did, and still go on living. But it is simply impossible to rip Emily out of me, not, at least, without violence to my mind and soul.

Maybe that's why what Mum perceived in that photo was not her son-in-law in a dress, but simply a "pretty lady." And maybe it's why it doesn't seem to bother her at all.

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